


Dressed Up to Undress

by notahousebutatomb



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, But Jaskier most of all, Drunken Shenanigans, Dumb Witcher Bets, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Geralt is the Gift, Idiots in Love, Jaskier can have a little kink as a treat, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic Bondage, Name Day Gifts, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Smut, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, enchanted sex toys, everyone is thirsty, losing a bet, pierced geralt, the boys are mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26039833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notahousebutatomb/pseuds/notahousebutatomb
Summary: Geralt loses a bet.Jaskier doesn't particularly mind the consequences.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 286





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough fanfictions out there with pierced!Geralt and that's a damn shame.

“Alright,” Lambert slurred. “If I win the last round then Geralt has to get his nipples pierced!”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” Eskel laughed. 

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Geralt echoed. They were all very drunk and very willing to get into trouble.

“And Eskel has to get my name tattooed on his ass.”

“Alright,” the heavily scarred Witcher agreed. “And if I win then Geralt has to grow out his beard until winter and you have to do lavatory duty for the first month we all spend at Kaer Morhen this year.”

“Agreed.”

“If I win” Geralt began, but the other two laughed him into silence. 

Lambert patted his silver-haired brother on the shoulder and handed him a newly opened and still mostly full bottle of vodka. “Listen, you’re either growing a beard or getting some piercings but there’s no way you’re winning this game. Have another drink and sit down.”

The youngest of the Wolves was unfortunately right. Both of Geralt’s darts had missed the center of the board by nearly a foot. He was too drunk to be playing this kind of thing (although better this than axe-throwing) and he accepted his loss by taking a hard seat nearby and watching the bet play out. He could always just remove the piercings if he didn't like them. He probably wouldn't be able to feel a thing, anyway; he was shitfaced and Witchers did have  _ incredibly  _ high pain tolerances, after all. 

Forty-five minutes and a handful of gold coins later, his two brothers in arms were grinning at the woman who ran the piercing parlor down the street. Their eyes shifted pensively from their coin purses to Geralt’s snoring form on the sturdy wooden table. “Might as well do his navel, since it's half-price now.”

“He’s going to kill us when he wakes up. You do know that, correct?"

“He’s going to look fucking hot,” Lambert snorted. “He’d better send us a thank you card when that bard of his gets a hold of him after these heal up.”

“You’re both idiots,” the woman sighed. She accepted the coin, though, and Geralt woke up with  _ three  _ new piercings instead of two. Ah well. He’d get them back for the prank/weird gift at Kaer Morhen. 

* * *

“Oh, aren’t they pretty,” Jaskier practically cooed, watching the dancers performing in the square. The Witcher had just gotten paid for slaying a nest of nekkers outside a mid-sized village and he’d done it just in time to salvage their harvest festival. The villagers were letting him stay and enjoy the various feasts and performances as a result. Jaskier was over the moon. “I love their body jewelry. It just adds that extra pizzazz, you know? Oh, of course not. You don’t much care for aesthetics, my darling, but I must say that this is a  _ lovely  _ display in my creative opinion.”

Two of the dancers had their eyebrows pierced, the Witcher noted. A third had a hoop hanging from her septum and yet another small dangling charm at her bellybutton, which swayed and caught the light of the sun as she danced. 

“You don’t have any piercings,” Geralt pointed out. “Or tattoos.”

“I’m terribly afraid of needles,” the bard replied. The Witcher’s eyes furrowed curiously.

“You sew me up all the time.”

“Saving your foolish, injury-prone ass is different than someone poking  _ me  _ with one of those things. Not to mention that closing your wounds and slowing the blood-loss usually keeps you alive, which I rather like.” 

“Hmm.”

Geralt had been considering removing the drunkenly acquired jewelry from his brothers' visit last week and letting the wounds heal shut; but seeing the admiration in the bard’s eyes and catching a faint whiff of  _ lust  _ from his general direction made the Witcher reconsider. Maybe he could let the pinprick wounds heal closed. Maybe, with some careful adjustments to his armor, he could keep them for a while. The woman at the shop had said it would take nine months to a year for the wounds to close around the jewelry but Geralt was a Witcher. They might heal fast enough for him to surprise his darling bard in the spring.

They hadn’t done anything physically in a few weeks, after all. Their relationship always cooled slightly as autumn came. As the time arrived when they knew they’d need to part ways for winter. Not touching each other as much made it easier, somehow. 

It made their reunion at the start of the warm months all the more enjoyable, too. There was nothing that aroused Geralt more than seeing his bard so insatiable and desperate. Spring had quickly become the Witcher’s favorite season after admitting his feelings to Jaskier and accepting him as a sort of companion/partner/lover. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other for the first week or so, no matter how hard they tried. Usually they holed up in the woods and got it out of their system before returning to the Path for another year of adventures.

Jaskier was still standing at his side, entranced by the dancers. Geralt felt the silver studs against his skin even more sharply now that he was aware of Jaskier’s feelings about them.  _ Fuck,  _ he sighed internally.  _ It’s going to be such a long winter. _


	2. Chorus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? There aren't enough fanfics where Geralt is pierced.

The party was growing increasingly boring, so Jaskier was more than a little excited when his personal attendant appeared at his side and muttered, “Someone had a gift delivered to your room. They requested that you see to it right away.”

“And simply leave my own name-day celebration?”

“I think you'd rather prefer this particular gift to your celebration, Milord.”

“On my way, then.”

Jaskier ducked out of the great hall without another word. He made his way through the winding halls of Castle Pankratz and up several criss-crossing staircases to his own set of private chambers. He hummed merrily to himself as he unlocked the heavy wooden door and entered, glancing around for whatever odd box or package had been left for him.

He wasn’t expecting to see  _ that.  _

He hadn’t been prepared to enter his room and find  _ Geralt  _ there, standing with his broad shoulders pulled back, his head bowed respectfully, a small but well-wrapped silver package clutched tightly in his large hands. The thing that was really throwing Jaskier off, of course, was Geralt’s outfit. The young nobleman slammed the door closed behind him and locked it with haste. Something nefarious had to be afoot and he didn’t want anyone else catching sight of the Witcher while he was vulnerable. “Geralt, are you alright?”

“Milord,” the Witcher rumbled softly. If Jaskier didn’t know any better he would say that the hulking man almost sounded  _ nervous,  _ perhaps even verging on  _ self-conscious.  _ Sure, he was dressed in his usual leather pants but his shirt was open-necked and dyed a beautiful sapphire blue, and he was  _ barefoot _ . This was the great Geralt of Rivia. He’d never show up to Jaskier’s home looking like  _ that  _ of his own volition. The Witcher’s trembling baritone voice rammed gently into Jaskier again, startling him a second time. “Happy name-day, Julian.”

“Have you been bewitched?” the bard gasped. He rushed to Geralt’s side and cupped the taller man’s jaw in his hand. He anxiously tilted the Witcher’s head back up until their eyes met and he could gauge his friend and lover’s wellbeing. Geralt was blushing as much as his mutations would allow, tinting his cheeks a delicate shade of pink. Almost  _ too  _ delicate for someone who looked and stood the way a Witcher did. “Are you okay? Are you with me, Geralt? Is it a spell that made you dress like this? Are you being so quiet because of magic? A curse? What do you need me to do?”

“I’m fine, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered. The blush on his cheeks burned white-hot beneath the surface of his skin. “I thought it would be nice to surprise you for your name-day and come down from Kaer Morhen a little early. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Angry with y-? Darling,” Jaskier laughed. He shook his head and sighed, “I’m relieved! I thought you had been delivered to my doorstep half-mad with magic; you’d usually never be caught dead in something jewel-toned. And you’re barefoot! I was confused and concerned, but never upset. Thank you for the lovely surprise visit.”

“I met up with Lambert and Eskel that week when you were gone for a wedding, around Midsummer,” Geralt said, explaining his presence at court rather clumsily and without prompting. Jaskier didn’t quite understand how his darling’s adoptive brothers were related to his fancy embroidered shirt or his decision to visit, but he was definitely intrigued. “And we got drunk.  _ Really  _ drunk. We made a bet and I, uh...I lost.”

The bard frowned. “So you’re only here for my name-day because you lost a bet with your brothers and wanted to show off your new outfit?”

“No!” Geralt half-shouted, eyes widening. He didn’t want to be misunderstood. “The shirt has nothing to do with anything except that I figured you’d like the color. It was- well, it was supposed to match your eyes but I think it’s a little darker than intended.”

“Geralt,” the bard/Lord sighed dreamily. “You’re too sweet. What does this have to do with the bet, then? And my name day? I’m growing more confused by the second.”

“Well, Milord, if you come here and kiss me, you’ll find out what happens when three Witchers are left alone with strong grog in a decently sized city. I really wanted to spend this name-day with you, Jaskier. I just also happen to have an additional...surprise, thanks to Lambert and Eskel.”

Reassured that his Witcher’s impromptu visit was totally consensual and now terribly curious about said surprises, Jaskier stepped forward. He let Geralt’s arms wrap around him and took a moment to bask in the warmth of his darling. “I missed you, again.”

“I missed you too.”

“We should stop spending winters apart,” Jaskier suggested, tracing the embroidery along the neckline of Geralt’s fancy tunic. 

“I agree,” the Witcher nodded. Jaskier smiled and decided to change the subject back to his name-day gift. 

“What’s in the box?” 

“I’ll tell you in a moment.”

“That’s not the surprise, then?”

“Like I said, if you want to find out what your surprises are, you’ll have to kiss me first.”

Jaskier did as he was told and leaned up to press his lips against Geralt’s. His hands settled atop the Witcher’s wide shoulders and then, as always, they slowly slid down to rest against the Witcher’s pectorals. Jaskier froze when his palms came to a stop in their usual spot. His eyes grew wide and round and Geralt knew exactly what that busy, creative mind was thinking; what the bard was no doubt picturing as he pieced every bit of vital information together. “Oh my god.”

“What do you think?”

“You got your nipples pierced!? That’s so hot! I can’t believe I didn’t notice before we parted for winter!”

“I was careful about hiding them.”

“Holy shit.”

“Are you pleased?”

“Am I  _ pleased?  _ Do you remember the sex we had after that festival with the nekkers and the dancers?  _ Gods _ , Geralt, I love them. Are they healed?”

The unusually shy Witcher bit his lip and nodded. He watched with a mixture of fascination and fear as the bard’s pupils suddenly swallowed up what was left of his cornflower irises. He could smell the heavy waves of lust rolling off Jaskier and couldn’t wait to see how it would all be directed at him. It was the bard’s name-day, after all, and the Witcher had given himself to the young Lord as a gift. “There’s...more.”

“More!?”  
Geralt set the box on the floor and slowly pulled the new blue tunic over his head. He tossed it to the side, where he could see the vague outline of a chair or table waiting for it to land upon. Jaskier’s eyes flickered over his darling’s statuesque body and he bit the back of his knuckle when he realized what _more_ really meant.

__ “A navel piercing, too!? Geralt, you’re going to put me in an early grave.”

A small silver charm dangled low on the Witcher’s abdomen and Jaskier practically drooled as he watched it sway slightly beneath the candlelight. There was a small topaz stone at the center and the charm had no business looking as delicate as it did on such a threatening and muscular man. Geralt felt like he was being eaten alive by the bard’s gaze alone. He mumbled out his next question, too nervous to raise his voice any higher, “Like it?”

Wordlessly, Jaskier planted his hand at the center of Geralt’s chest and pushed forward until the backs of his Witcher’s knees hit the edge of the bed. The force of Jaskier’s shove had Geralt windmilling flat onto the mattress. He struggled up onto his elbows and gulped visibly when Jaskier leaned over him, one long finger reaching down to fiddle with the charm where it rested against the taut skin of his stomach. 

The Witcher hadn’t messed around with his piercings much himself except to clean them as the shop owner instructed and he wasn’t expecting the result to be so oddly  _ erogenous.  _ His breath hitched when the bard flicked it again and he watched with growing fascination as his usually mild-mannered lover  _ transformed  _ before him. Jaskier’s body language grew intensely angled and possessive and his grin darkened to something unfamiliar but so achingly attractive. 

Geralt did not often feel like  _ prey  _ but this...this was what he suspected it to be like. “Jaskier?”

“Shhh, love,” the young noble commanded gently. “Scoot back a bit, will you? Lay that pretty white head against my pillows?”

Geralt shuddered. 

He liked being ordered around under the right circumstances. That meant he didn’t have to overthink things, as always. Being ordered around like this  _ by Jaskier  _ was even more enjoyable; Jaskier could be trusted. Jaskier was  _ always there  _ for him. His darling bard would never hurt or betray him; they loved each other too dearly.

He followed the bard’s directions and scooted back until he could lay his head against the pile of feather pillows near the headboard. “You should, uh, open your last present.”

“The box?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier turned and picked up the parcel curiously. “It’s not a matching set, is it? You know I’m afraid of needles.”

“It’s...it’s not that.”

“Okay.” Geralt waited with bated breath as his darling bard opened the box, peered inside, and  _ gasped  _ happily. Jaskier’s curious blue eyes snapped between the Witcher on his bed and the box in his hands two or three times before he finally spoke again. “Are these for me or for you?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Geralt replied. He was having a very hard time being smooth with Jaskier eyeing him down that way. 

“Happy name-day to me,” the young nobleman purred, pulling the set of heavy silver manacles from the box and twirling them around his finger as he sashayed towards the bed. Geralt lay, stretched out across the top of the sapphire blue duvet, and watched his lover approach with an air of intense authority. 

“They’re enchanted,” the Witcher mumbled. His eyes wanted to look everywhere but at Jaskier, who was crawling his way up the mattress and over Geralt’s prone body. The blush returned and seemed to be even more powerful, “So that the wearer is under the fastener’s total control, so long as it is a consensual bond.”

“So as long as you’re into it, you  _ have  _ to do it when I ask?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s really hot.”

“Put them on me, already,” the Witcher demanded. 

Jaskier secured the two silver bands around his lover’s wrists and watched the full-body shudder that rocked through Geralt as they clicked shut. “Oh, you really like that, huh?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier straddled the Witcher’s hips and walked his fingers up Geralt’s tight, rippling abs. He flicked the navel piercing again just to watch his name-day gift squirm against the velvet brocade of his bed coverings. He looked like a fine jewel still sitting in the pouch, begging to be touched. Jaskier was going to treat his Witcher like a  _ treasure.  _ Because he absolutely was.

“You are  _ ravishing, _ ” the noble sighed. Both of his hands trailed up through Geralt’s snow-white chest hair to hover above the Witcher’s pierced nipples. “May I touch?”

Geralt bit his lip and nodded slowly. “That’s what they’re for, after all.”

“Did you keep them because of what I said at that festival?”

The Witcher’s deepening blush was answer enough. 

“Hands above your head, love.”

Geralt complied instantly and Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully. 

“They really do work!”

“I hope so. Otherwise Triss owes me a lot of money back.”

“You bought sex toys from  _ Triss Merigold!?” _

“Perhaps.”

“You’re a heathen,” Jaskier grinned. “And I’m going to have to make you repent.”

“Oh Melite-” halfway through his eye-roll Geralt’s mind went blank. Jaskier had finally settled his calloused hands against the Witcher’s chest and  _ tugged  _ at the jewelry embedded there. Twin sparks of pure, molten pleasure shot from Geralt’s chest to his groin. “ _ Fuck.” _

“Have you not played with them yet yourself?”

“Wasn’t really interested.”

“Sensitive?” the bard asked innocently, twisting a little more forcefully. Geralt’s only reply was to arch up off the bed and moan like an over-tipped whore. This was an entirely new sensation. Sure, Jaskier had fondled his chest before, the bard was rather fond of his  _ well-endowed tits  _ as he’d once called them, but this was  _ new.  _ This was a deeper kind of pull and ache and it felt  _ incredible.  _

“Jask-”

“Ahem?” the brunette interrupted, tugging at the little iron bars once again. Geralt’s mind went momentarily blank before he recovered enough to say -

“ _ Milord. _ ”

“Much better, darling. Now, no coming until I say so!”

The young Lord’s tone was sing-song and jovial but Geralt knew better. 

“Please, Milord,” the Witcher panted, arching up into the younger man’s hands once again. Offering himself to his lover completely, “Touch me.”

“Oh I fully intend to, my dear.”

The Witcher watched with growing anticipation as Jaskier untied and removed his leather trousers. The bard’s clothes went next, falling haphazardly onto the floor in silken pile. Now, with both of them naked and breathing heavily, the little Lord seemed truly predatory. He kissed, nibbled, and sucked his way down Geralt’s neck, leaving a trail of wet purple bruises in his wake. His hands ghosted along the Witcher’s sides before settling firmly against his hips. 

“You’re so soft, my darling,” the noble insisted. He tongued lazily at one of Geralt's pierced nipples and felt how deliciously the Witcher squirmed beneath him. His hands tightened against those wide, sculpted hip bones, pushing Geralt down against the mattress. He took advantage of the enchanted cuffs, “Don’t move, my sweet.”

“Hnnn,” the Witcher whined. He couldn’t force his muscles to push any further against the magic; he was spread out and immobile, waiting for Jaskier to take his fill. Knowing that the bracelets only worked if Geralt was willing  _ thrilled  _ the bard, who was still flicking his tongue over the Witcher’s new jewelry. “ Milord _ , please  _ be  merciful _.” _

“Fucking hells, Geralt. You can't just say shit like that,” the Lord groaned. He leaned to the side and fumbled around the top drawer of his dressing table for a moment before returning with a small crystal vial in hand. “This okay, love?”

The Witcher nodded again.

“Out loud, please.”

“I want you to fuck me, Milord.”

“Okay you didn’t have to say  _ that  _ but I am certainly not complaining that you did.”

Geralt was still being forcibly immobilized and he was loving every second of it. Jaskier’s touches were like fiery brands against his skin in the best of ways, lighting up his nerves as they skimmed along. When those clever fingers slipped between his legs and slid down the cleft of his ass, warm and wet, he floated away on a cloud of pure pleasure.

When he returned to his body, Jaskier was pulling three fingers from his well-stretched hole and lining himself up, ready to push in. The noble wiped his hands on the bedding and moved back to toy with the silver bars adorning Geralt’s chest. “Gods you’re magnificent. You can move all you want now, love. You’re not getting away from me anyway.”

Geralt moaned aloud at the sound of his usually passive bard’s aggressive tone.  _ Fuck, he liked that.  _ “Milord, pl-”

“Hush.”

Geralt’s mouth snapped shut as the magic of the manacles took over again. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth as Jaskier lined his hips up with the Witcher’s ready entrance. 

“May I? Answer me.”

“Please, yes, Jaskier ple- _ ohh.” _

“Yes,” Jaskier urged, waiting a moment as his lover adjusted to his size. Once Geralt’s hips starting pushing down against him, though, the Lord continued. “Make all your loveliest sounds for me, my gift. I want to hear how good you feel when I fill you up like this.”

The Witcher did as he was told, crying out in ecstasy as Jaskier rammed against his sweet spot again and again. His spine felt like a willow rod, ready to snap at any moment yet somehow only bowing further as he arched into  _ Jaskier.  _ With his lover’s cock buried in him and one of those devilish hands still working maddeningly between his three piercings, Geralt had no other option but to give in to the sensation. He cried out, hips rutting into the empty air as Jaskier drove into him over and over.

“Come for me,” the Lord ordered.

Geralt  _ obeyed.  _ His eyes rolled back into his head and his arms strained beautifully, stretched out above him as they were. His skin was shining with sweat and his white hair was matted against his forehead as he came, shooting across his own chest as well as a small patch of Jaskier’s. The bard followed quickly after, resting his forehead against Geralt's as they both regained their breath. 

"Alright," Jaskier smiled, chuckling lightly. "For your name day, I'll consider giving these a go."

"What about getting a piercing or two?"  


Jaskier released the cuffs and gave his lover a half-hearted smack to his sweaty chest. "No needles."

"And mine?"  


"Keep them."


End file.
